


A Thousand Paper Cranes

by AristocatSlippers



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 02:12:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12546528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AristocatSlippers/pseuds/AristocatSlippers
Summary: To make a wish you have to fold one thousand paper cranes, of course, this doesn't necessarily mean it will come true. Because magic doesn't work, not really, but then, some people do make wishes come true, even if it's not the way you expect.





	A Thousand Paper Cranes

Folding paper made a rustling sound, taking the shape of a white crane. One down, 999 to go. A cool breeze blew the paper out of Tanuma’s hands, idly he wondered whether losing a crane meant you had to make it again or whether you could simply carry on without remaking it. Would your wish still come true? He watched it flutter among the flower petals on the wind, distracted enough not to hear the soft foot steps that snook up behind him. Gently, a hand was placed on his shoulder although he didn’t startle as the person put his weight down and sat next to him, withdrawing their warm hand. Their presence was a familiar and comforting one, Tanuma turned to look at Natsume smiling next to him, watching the flowers blow in the wind with him.

“Hey Tanuma, what are you making?” Natsume’s head was cocked to the side with interest, he was staring at the paper in his hands - the crane on the wind had long since blown away.

It was a silly notion, making a thousand paper cranes in the hope that if you wished on them it would actually come true; perhaps it was less silly than wishing on a star though, at least this was something you did yourself. Even though it felt silly , he still confessed to the action, “I’m making a thousand paper cranes, when I do I can make a wish.” Tanuma gently shook his head at his childishness, when had he lost all those years? 

Hands stretching out above his head for a moment, Natsume settled back into the long blades of green grass, yawning as he spoke, “What will you wish for, Tanuma?”

He hadn’t really thought of what specifically, just that he wanted to wish for something, he’d opened his mouth to answer but shut it again when he noticed the other boy’s distraction. Natsume was no longer looking at him, but to his left, he couldn’t see what had captured his friend’s attention, but he wasn’t scared of it - that Tanuma could see. 

A small yokai was tugging, almost imperceptibly, on Natsume’s sleeve. It was wearing a blue and purple kimono, babbling in it’s little voice. The yokai looked more like a faerie as it pointed to somewhere in the distance. For such a small thing the journey there would take quite a while; swiftly, Natsume reached over Tanuma to take some of his remaining paper - folding it into a paper airplane. Cautiously the small faerie climbed on, gripping the wings tightly. 

Natsume whispered to it, “Hold on little buddy," before aiming for the wind and throwing. 

On top the paper airplane, the little creature waved, now more confident in their vehicle, as they headed towards their destination. Gusts of wind caught it and blew it high, in the changing light Tanuma could just make out the fuzzy outline of a something sitting atop it. His wish. Did he really have to think about it before? If he told Natsume he’d probably worry but… maybe if he didn’t say his entire wish… 

“I want to see the pond… The one outside my house.”

It really was a beautiful pond, despite the fact that he couldn’t see it (for all he saw was a mere reflection). There was a whole world out there regardless of himself and his dreams, if he closed his eyes, could he see it? Would he ever see the world that was just hidden from his sight, like that fuzzy outline?

 Next to him, Natsume looked so deep in thought, considering his wish “Your wish, Tanuma, I hope it comes true.” 

A thousand paper cranes. Wishing on them like a child, maybe he should have made some when he was a child. Now though, he didn’t really have a need to. When Tanuma asked what he’d wish for he sighed lightly before responding, “I’m not alone anymore. I don’t have anything I need to wish for.”

Gracing his face was a rare, contagious carefree smile invoking Tanuma to smile too. But the sun was setting now and the field of white heather and sunflowers was growing cold, the sweet pea flowers were swaying gently in the night air. Returning to the temple, Tanuma gazed longingly at his garden, no longer paying mind to the reflection of the moon on invisible water. Unconsciously his fingers were taking pieces of paper and forming white cranes once more. Surrounded by paper shapes, sleep came late that night. 

 In his room, Natsume found the usual party that made up the dog’s circle - which meant another sleepless night filled with avoiding alcohol. In their drunken states only Nyanko-sensei objected to making paper cranes. Each wanted to make a wish for themself when he had explained why he was making them. To fulfill his friend’s wish, even when he knew making them would not bring it at all. Still, even when he had stopped the yokai kept making them. Every morning when Tanuma woke up he found more paper cranes in his room. On the third day there were 78, there were always more the next. So he kept counting, 102 on the fourth and a strange silence from his friend. He was not making them - claiming something else to do. Every now and then he’d find said friend sat by the pond that he couldn’t see - looking at it with a mixture of awe and melancholy. As if something about it were so irrevocably sad. For Tanuma, the month that it lasted went by quietly but quickly - every day counting the increasing number of paper cranes he was ever closer to a wish that would not come true. 

On the thousandth crane, exactly the thousandth crane, they stopped coming. Awaking the day after, there were no more cranes however in their place was a painting of a pond. Painted and signed by someone who’d been sat there, staring for a long time. One that didn’t exist for most - but it was a beautiful pond despite the fact that he could see it (even if all he saw was a mere painting). 


End file.
